


Closure

by EdGluskin



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Closure, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, a fic in where eddie gluskin gets the therapy he deserves and the help he needs, self-care
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-12-19 17:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11902296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdGluskin/pseuds/EdGluskin
Summary: A year after Outlast: Whistleblower. Waylon has tried to move on with his life.After leaving his wife and sons for their protection, Waylon assumes all is safe. His whole world comes crashing down when his therapist offers him a choice: To get closure with one of the men who hurt him... or to keep living his life with the knowledge that the man he thought he had killed... was still alive.





	1. The Call

**Author's Note:**

> [ DISCLAIMERS ]
> 
> 1) This fic will not be a fetishization / kink representation of rape / "non-con" / CSA. I am an abuse survivor of CSA and other abuse and will be making this as realistic to my experiences as I can. Any critiques from other survivors on how I should handle the therapy parts of this fic is greatly appreciated! if you think rape is a kink get away from me.
> 
> 2) I have ADHD and have a hard time keeping up to date with updating my works (you can see this if you go onto my acct). I will try my best to update this and keep the story interesting!
> 
> 3) Updates should be expected once a week on Fridays.

The tv was kept to a dull roar as Waylon typed steadily away at his laptop, legs crossed underneath him and one hand cradling a cup of coffee to his chest. The digital clock on the counter in the kitchen blared 1:12 a.m., but his eyes stayed glued to the screen. His body was physically exhausted, but his mind was swimming with numbers and codes. This was a fault in his structural makeup that he sometimes denied: obsessing over things until his body couldn’t bear to function anymore.

He hadn’t been able to sleep soundly for a couple weeks now, the memories of Mount Massive flooding his brain like a wave of static and electricity until he was almost having minor spasms in his body due to the over activity. The pain and trauma was still raw, open like a wound (like his leg) and steadily bleeding. He had been able to stop most of the blood from gushing, but now his therapist was there to keep it from infecting.

A notification came to life on his computer from his messaging app, and his buzzing train of thought was suddenly snipped midway through by the intrusive noise and popup. He paused in his typing, and swept the mouse over to the window before switching tabs.

            [1:15 am] **Blake:** You still up?

            **[ Waylon is typing…]**

            [1:15 am] **Waylon:** sure am, man. you made me lose my train of thought, though.

            **[Blake is typing…]**

            [1:17 am] **Blake:** oh sorry, Waylon, shit. i’m still out with miles at this party. i wont be back till, like, 2 am. just letting you know so you won’t jump us on our way in.

Waylon felt a smile quirk up on his lips, and he typed away to respond with swift fingers. After closing the tab, he pulled up his coding page. All he could do was sit and stare at it, green eyes wavering as he studied the long block of code before him. And…he lost his place.

With a huff, he closed the laptop and set it to the side, sipping at his coffee as he turned up the television. Some late night subpar sitcom. It was just something to lull him into a fit full sleep at this point.

 

***

 

Before he knew it, he was jolting awake. His body was still nestled on his couch, but a blanket had been tucked around him and a pillow nestled under his neck. He wiped drool from his lip, and sat up on his elbows. Early morning sunlight streamed through the window, lighting the living room enough so his bleary eyes could adjust and get his surroundings.

“Morning cupcake!”

Waylon blinked over at Miles from behind the couch as his roommate busied himself in the kitchen. The smell of bacon met his nostrils and he swung his legs over the side of the couch and bent forward, elbows on his knees and palms pressing against his eyes. He groaned in response.

“Stay up late again? It’s almost 11, bud.” Miles quipped up from the kitchen, wrapping a dish cloth around his wrist as he moved in to flip a piece of bacon, grease popping back at him in response. “You were out like a light when me and Blake got home. I busted my ass in the kitchen and you didn’t even twitch.”

Waylon groaned again and stood up, running a hand through his messy sandy-brown hair. The curls bounced back onto his forehead and he shuffled sleepily into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, grimacing when his boxer-clad thighs were met with cold air. “Blake stay over?”

Miles hummed and nodded, turning off the burner and setting the bacon aside. “Sure as shit did, why do you think I’m making breakfast?”

“Yea. You never make breakfast unless you got laid. Or you’re being promised to get laid.” Waylon replied with a laugh, and snatched the milk carton from the top shelf. He opened the cap and put the carton up to his lips, tipping his head back and taking some gulps. Miles flipped him off, and Waylon readily returned the gesture.

“Oh shut your shit, Way. At least I’m _getting_ laid, eh?” His younger roommate replied sarcastically, and laughed when he was met with a glare.

“Least I still have my fingers.” Waylon griped back, and he was met with a dish towel popping against his thigh. He responded with a _yipe_ , and had to scramble to keep the milk carton from slipping from his hands. He put the milk back and turned on Miles, getting ready to jump him in revenge.

Miles laughed, putting his arms up to protect himself, when Blake walked into the room. He was fully dressed save for his shoes, and he smiled over at the two. “Okay, break it up guys. You guys shouldn’t be rough housing next to a pan full of burning hot grease, anyway.”

“Hey babe!” Miles piped, happily maneuvering around Waylon to peck Blake on the cheek. Blake smiled, grabbing his phone from the counter were he had placed it last night. “Hey hon. Hey, Waylon. How’s your coding doing for that website you’re being payed to do?”

He shrugged, snatching a piece of bacon from a plate where some had already been cooling off, and chewed on it. Crispy. Perfect.

“I gave up around the time you messaged me and passed out. It’s about 80% done, but I wish it was over with already. I hate coding. Just wish I could get a fucking job already.”

Blake smiled, but it was one of those pity smiles that made Waylon’s skin crawl. Being that Blake was his friend; he let it slide and sat down at the table. “I might go snooping for a job or something local, but I know if I even step foot in a busy area around here I’ll lose it and have an anxiety attack. Plus, everyone’s been buzzing over Murkoff’s videos being leaked, and I’m scared someone’s gonna recognize me.”

“It’s been a year, you’d think they would be over it by now.” Miles grumbled from his place at the counter, fixing up a plate for himself and Blake.

“No shit. Apparently it’s a bigger story than usual. And if I have to see that shit ball Jeremy’s face on anymore TV segments I’m castrating my own balls and putting them in a stew.”

Blake’s eyebrows shot up on his head and he laughed. “That’s a new one.”

 

***

 

The rest of the morning went about as smoothly as it could with Miles being in the mix. Both the journalist and the cameraman left on their ways to work, and Waylon was left to his own devices.

It was about two hours later, while Waylon was cleaning up the living room from last night’s affairs that his phone rang. He grabbed it from the coffee table and immediately paused before picking it up.

He knew the number, and he liked the person behind the number, but a gut wrenching feeling had his body pause from answering it at that moment.

“Hello?” Waylon finally answered, tucking the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he continued picking up loose trash from the coffee table.

His therapist’s calm voice picked up from the other end. “Waylon! I’m sorry to call so suddenly but I wanted to check up on you since I had to reschedule for next week instead of this week.” He heard her fumble with some papers in the background and he waited before replying.

“That’s fine, Abbey. I already made some plans for this week so I won’t be stuck in the apartment with my thoughts.”

“That’s good! I actually called to ask you about something. Since I don’t have any more clients today, can you stop by the office for a little bit? Maybe ten minutes, if that. I uh…need to talk to you about something.” She seemed to pause, and something in her voice made her sound almost weary of telling Waylon the news.

The tech paused in his cleaning, and straightened up a little bit, grabbing the phone with his free hand and changing ears. “…And what’s that?” His gut almost clenched in fear, and he felt a cold sweat break out over the back of his neck.

“Listen. I don’t…exactly know if you are ready to take this step in your recovery process but I thought you’ve been doing so well this past year with coping mechanisms and mindfulness that I would at least offer this. I was with some other mental health professionals touring a newly installed behavioral facility when I got wind of one of the clients that’s been there for a couple days. From what you’ve shared with me from your…traumatic experience at Mount Massive I think the new client was from the same place you were.”

Waylon’s heart stopped.

“I asked some of the psychiatrists and nurses about him. He’s a mister…Gluskin. Eddie Gluskin. I want to talk to you about scheduling a visit with him to start the process of closure and moving past some traumatic experiences. That is…if you’re ready. I know this is a big step. But I think you’re ready. I just want to know what you want to do, Waylon.”

Waylon’s mouth went dry, and he struggled to close it as his mind tried to process what was just said to him. Him? That… _fucker_ …was still alive? It took him too long to find his voice.

“I uh… I’ll be down there in 20.”


	2. Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie receives the news of a future visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to publish this early! If i don't I'll probably forget woops! Also I wanted to write Dennis really bad, as I have DID as well. It was really nice to write someone else who was like me.

Morning sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting Eddie in a yellow glow. He blinked open his eyes, body rocking slightly from the dreams that clouded his head during the night. He turned his head, blinking away the blur of sleep before sitting up in his bed.

The room was barren white and clean; not a speck of blood or grime had ever touched this place. His sheets were a soft white and baby blue, and his pillow was the same hue of blue. It complimented the crisp white of the room. On the wall facing him, there was a brown dresser. It held what little clothes he owned (all of which were donated to him from the hospital).

He swung his legs off of the side of the bed and slowly got to his feet, padding over to the dresser to look through its contents. He was dressed in light blue scrub-pants and was barefoot. He didn’t wear a shirt when he slept, solely because of the fact he would wake up in cold sweats during the night. He fished around for his socks and grabbed them when he found them.

He glanced around the room, noticing the one lone picture next to the door. It showed a calm landscape of tree-covered mountains with a glowing sunset in the background.

A light knock came from his door, and after Eddie said he was decent, one of the nurses stepped in. She had dirty blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail, a pair of rectangular black glasses perched on her nose, and in her arm she held a clipboard. She gave Eddie a polite smile, which he returned.

“Ready for breakfast?” She asked, which Eddie yawned and nodded. The nurse pulled the clipboard from the crook of her arm.

He turned and snatched a matching blue shirt from the dresser, slipping it on his built frame before going to the door with his nurse.

“Alright. Your schedule seems to be in order. You’ll have your health checkup, then breakfast with everyone else, and then group therapy. After that you’ll take a break, and then you’ll go have personal psychotherapy.” He walked alongside her as she talked, towering over her short 5’6’’ form. He was the tallest patient at the medical facility, constantly towering over all everyone else (patients, staff, and psychiatrists).

Eddie nodded, motioning that he heard, as he sluggishly shuffled along the floor. He hated waking up as early as 7. He loved to sleep in, and the nurses called him a brute because of his grumpiness from not being able to sleep in. His hair was a mess atop his head, and he felt self-conscious walking through the hallways looking like this. He forgot to brush his hair.

He ran a hand through his bedhead, hoping the patting down could calm down the strands of black hair.

The nursed hid a chuckle, watching him fuss over his hair, before leading him to the doctor’s offices and leaving him alone in the small room.

Eddie had no memory of Mount Massive after the riots. It was all a blurred experience. His dreams, however, seemed to be desperate to try and spark his memory with almost otherworldly sequences. He remembers a face of a man, just before he blacked out and his memory became thick like mud. The man was scared, he could tell through the glass, scared like him and just as desperate to get away.

And in his dreams, that man was there. Just as scared as before, if not more. But of _him_ , not of the monsters that put him in that place. His dreams would play snippets of long, dark hallways. Of blood, grime, and screams. Of that man, running from him with all of his strength, of wiggling from his grasp with a white face and wide eyes. He didn’t understand any of it. At all.

These dreams had only started when he started getting medical help from the hospital he woke up at. They weren’t as vivid back then, but his head wasn’t as clear as it was now. He was scared, violent, and constantly being watched. Now he just…lived. As best as he could.

He looked up from his thoughts to his doctor coming in. The door was closed with a soft, hissed click, and he met his doctor’s smile. The doctor was a middle aged black man, with warm brown eyes and a crop of gray hair. He set his clipboard down on the counter and sat down at his own chair.

“Morning Eddie. Have a good sleep last night?” He asked, swiveling in his chair to move right up in front of Eddie’s taller form. Eddie smiled, despite his grumpy mood, and nodded slowly.

“Surprisingly, yes. I know I’ve been having night terrors more frequently lately.” He responded, scratching at the back of his head. If there wasn’t anything Eddie hated more, it was talking about himself.

“Wonderful! Open please.” The doctor said, waiting for Eddie to comply before sticking a thermometer under his tongue. The rest of the appointment stretched on for the next 15 minutes, with the doctor asking questions about how he felt, how his medication was working, etcetera. Eventually, he was let go to have breakfast.

 

***

 

“I’m getting’ tired’a these damn nurses.” Came the drawl behind Eddie’s head at the cafeteria tables. Eddie looked up from his meal to find Dennis- no. Timmy? It sounded as such, placing his tray down next to him and taking a seat.

Eddie dabbed a napkin at his scarred lips before looking back down at his food. “Timmy-  right? They’re mostly here to help.” He said calmly, and Timmy snorted in response.

Suddenly, it was Dennis’s calm, almost timid, voice that came up. “The food’s not the best either. Too salty.” He took a bite regardless, chewing slowly.

Eddie looked over down at Dennis’s shaved head, a smile picking up on his lips. Dennis and his alters were one of the few patients that made it from Mount Massive, and one that he remembered before the riots. “It could be worse. Anything’s better than what happened back then, Dennis.” He said, and he took a sip of his orange juice.

Dennis grumbled, stabbing at his eggs with a fork, hand on his chin, as he did so.

“Timmy’s quite active this morning.” Eddie added nonchalantly before taking a bite of his bacon. He grimaced. It was slightly undercooked, making the bacon sloppy instead of crispy like he enjoyed it. He heard Dennis sigh into his food, and looked over just as Dennis dropped his fork and put his head into his hands. A muffled grumble came from the smaller man.

He picked his head back up to look over at Eddie, blue-grey eyes swimming with stress. “Timmy’s always running his mouth. I kinda miss David. He was always nicer to me. Timmy likes to rip my self-esteem in half. I mean, it’s been calmer in here since leaving that fuckin’ Mount Massive place…but Timmy’s just been angrier since then.”

“It’s understandable.” Eddie replied, and took another bite of his breakfast. “A lot of stress came from that place. I’m hoping group therapy helps you all?” Dennis shrugged at that. He didn’t talk after that, just quietly picking at his plate from the curled position on the bench he was in.

Before Eddie had finished his entire plate, a nurse came by his table and called his name. He glanced up, eyebrow quirked in confusion, before he asked him to come with him. His gut churned, and he had to remind himself that this wasn’t like the old place…that he was safe in the hands of the nurses here.

He got up, leaving his plate and Dennis behind.

“The doctors wish to talk to you right now, they want to ask you some questions.” He said calmly, walking alongside Eddie’s hulking form down the hallways. They made a couple turns until they ended up in front of the door at the end of the long hallway.

The nurse rapped on the door twice, before opening and ushering Eddie inside.

His therapist met him with a warm smile. “Edward! Come in, sit down.” His lip twitched in slight annoyance. He liked his therapist, very much actually. She had helped him a lot for the little amount of time he had been here, but she always seemed to forget to call him Eddie, like he preferred. She would apologize, sure, but it seemed like she didn’t give much of an effort to try.

He sat down on the couch across from the desk, where he and his psychiatrist were standing and talking at. He worriedly fiddled his thumbs, biting down on his scarred lip and glancing around the room.

Eventually, they stopped and moved to the couch across from Eddie. His therapist talked first.

“You’ve been doing amazing for the little time you’ve been here.” She started, grabbing a file with his name on it from the bookshelf next to the plush couch. “In fact, we’ve all been very pleased with how you’ve adapted at this new facility. We got word from the hospital you were staying at that you had issues with the orderlies there.”

“I thought they were going to hurt me.” Eddie began, suddenly deadpanning as he talked. His therapist nodded, and he watched as she moved a strand of very curly brown hair from her eyes.

“We got a call this morning from a therapist a couple towns over.” His therapist began, and he felt his entire body tense up. His gut churned, and his mind started to flood and run with thoughts, scenarios, and memories. It flashed behind his eyes like a movie screen and he barely had any time to process them fully before they were gone again.

“It seems as though someone from…the… _facility_ you originated from wishes to meet with you in a form of…therapy.” She said slowly, glancing up from his files to check his face. Eddie felt faint, and he had to take a few steady breaths to get his grip. [ _filthy whore, minx, slut, you all l-_ ]

“Is that…so?” He fidgeted, suddenly feeling overheated in his clothes. His therapist grew calm, and looked worried as she looked down at the file again. “We think this could help you tremendously. The person even talked to us on the phone for a little bit to make it clear this seemed like a good idea. It could help with _both_ of your traumas.”

Eddie felt sweat prickle at the back of his neck, and he had to work on his breathing exercises he learned back at the hospital to get a grip on himself. Flashes of blood and gore blinked behind his eyes. “I…guess I would need uh…time to think about this.” He replied.

He rubbed as his scarred hands while his psychiatrist leaned to talk quietly with his therapist. They both nodded and looked over at Eddie before standing up from their seat. “We’ll give them a call that you need time to think about this, but thank you for at least considering this.” Eddie stood up as well, feeling sweat prickle his forehead.

“Of course, Mrs.Whittaker.” He said, shaking her and her psychiatrist’s hand before being escorted out to attend group therapy.

 

***

 

 _Eddie’s gloved hands came up to caress the soft face of the man before him, and he used his thumb to wipe a smudge of blood from his cheek. “_ Oh darling…I have missed you.” _He cooed, cupping the smaller man’s jaw gently with one hand while his other pushed strands of sandy brown hair from his forehead._

_The man before him smiled, eyes fluttering closed as he leaned against the hand that cupped his jaw so gently. His arms came up and rested on Eddie’s shoulder. He leaned up slowly, brushing his prickly beard along the scabbed over scars of his face. His lips planted against his cheekbone, and before Eddie could savor the gentle action, he had moved away._

_He met his love’s calm green eyes, and they both smiled in unison._ “I’ve missed you too, Eddie.” _His voice, though sweet and smooth like honey, had a deep slight gruffness to it that had Eddie’s heartrate quicken with excitement._

_But the moment was quickly gone, as before Eddie knew it, the warm man he held in his hands became cold and clammy. He looked down at the arms that went limp around his neck, and when his eyes met his face, he let out a scream. Dead, clouded eyes met his, and dried blood was caked across his mouth like smeared lipstick._

Eddie jolted out of bed with a scream, thrashing and kicking tangled sheets from his legs. He looked around the thick darkness of his room. Tears clouded his eyes and he fumbled in the dark until he crashed to the ground with a loud thud, out of bed, with sheets still wrapped around his legs.

The door opened, and before he knew it, two nurses had helped him up from the mess of sheets and screams on the floor. He was mumbling incoherently, trembling from fear as he was put back in bed.

The room flooded with light from the lamp on top of the dresser, and two nurses carefully grabbed his arm. He was having a violent panic attack from his night terror, and the nurses were desperately trying to sedate him.

Before he knew it, his mind was swimming, and his head lolled to the side as he was gently situated back into bed. A nurse came up to check on him, shining a light into his dilated pupils. Her fuzzy voice met his ears, and it took a while for his foggy mind to process what she had asked.

The only thing he could think to say before he slipped into unconsciousness was a slurred out, “I’ll…do the…session.”


	3. Face to Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon contemplates his decision in the meeting. Miles hates it, Blake is sympathetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got so emotional over all of the positive feedback over this fic that i decided to publish another chapter in the same week. Heavy shit's gonna happen in the next chapter, and I just wanna warn of potential triggers in the future. 
> 
> This is it, y'all.

“What the fuck do you mean you’re meeting with Eddie Gluskin?” Miles snapped, setting down his coffee mug. Waylon winced, glancing around the busy café as a couple eyes met his in curiosity.

Waylon put his hand up, trying to calm the fire in Miles’s eyes that seemed to burn with some deep intensity. Blake sat next to his boyfriend, glancing over at him with slight concern. “Look, yea I get it. It’s a shitty idea but…I…I talked to my therapist about this. She thinks I’m ready.”

“But are _you_ ready?” Blake quipped, both of his hands cupping the mug of hot coffee he was sipping at.

Waylon had met up with Miles and Blake down at the local café like they always did once a week, and now that he had brought up the plans he regretted doing this in public. He thought the public would help make the talk easier, but he forgot who he was talking with. Miles never cared about how he appeared in public. He had the manners of a brute.

He looked down at his tea and shrugged, eyebrows furrowed as he thought for a moment. Was he ready? He thought he was. The hour long conversation he had with his therapist before making the phone call with her seemed to settle just how ready he was…but now he was starting to second guess his own decision.

He had weighed the pros and the cons, the problems he would have and the doubts and fears. But talking with his friends who had gone through similar traumas seemed to have him right back at square one. Doubt flashed behind his eyes and he looked back up at Blake. “I think I am. And I feel like I have to do this. Because…if it actually does turn out to help me, I could finally get back to the way I was before all of this shit happened.”

“He tried to castrate you, Way.” Miles almost growled, blowing on his coffee before taking a rather large gulp. The sudden aggressive comment felt like a slap to Waylon, and he flinched back a second. Blake glanced over at Miles, and he brought a hand up to comfortingly pat his shoulder.

“Miles, regardless of how you feel, this is Waylon’s decision.” He said softly.

“It’s a shit decision. This would be like if I decided to patch shit up with Trager if he was still alive.” Miles growled out. He paused, before resting his elbow on the table and pointing a finger at Waylon. “Speaking of, how the fuck is that freak still alive? There’s video fucking evidence of him bleeding out on a pipe.”

Waylon put a finger to his lips and looked around him before glaring back at Miles. “I don’t know, Miles, how are you still talking to me after being pumped full of bullets?”

The journalist opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut and glared down at his cup. Fair enough.

Blake worried his lip before glancing over at Waylon. He had moved his hand from Miles’s shoulder down to the crook of his elbow and nestled it there. “I honestly think is a good idea, Waylon. You just need to be careful. Any wrong thing done or said could result in a relapse.”

“I know.” He replied, lips at the rim of his teacup. “But I need to do this. If not for me…then for Eddie. I somehow feel responsible for what happened to him…”

“It isn’t your fault.” Blake said sternly, and it caught Waylon off guard. “You were a victim of their abusive power on others. If you hadn’t’ve done what they ordered you to do, you’d be in his position. And call that selfish but you know that it was an understandable circumstance.”

As much as Waylon wished to argue about that, he knew Blake was right. For what Miles lacked in level headedness, Blake made that up for in critical thinking and awareness. His own therapy had slowly helped him regain a calm understanding of reality, and even seemed to enlighten him to being understanding of other people’s circumstances in life.

“I hate it when you’re right, Blake.” Waylon mumbled, a smile breaking out over his lips.

“I say the exact same thing.” Miles piped in, finally breaking his silent treatment. They all chuckled softly, though it wasn’t because of uneasiness, and went back to their drinks.

 

***

 

It was around 3:00 when Waylon got to the apartment. He threw his keys on the kitchen counter and walked toward the fridge. His bare feet shuffled against the linoleum, and he drummed his fingers against the handle of the fridge as his eyes skimmed the contents.

He had to go grocery shopping soon. There wasn’t much in the fridge to eat, and what there was to eat had to be cooked. And there was no way in hell he was cooking right now; he was exhausted.

He walked over to the couch, flopping down on it and pulling his phone out of his pocket. He clicked the screen on, and was momentarily blinded by his lock screen. He paused, looking over his lock screen. He held back his instinct to cry as he met the eyes of Lisa as she stood smiling on the screen.

His heart ached, his whole body felt hollow as his brain sent him down memory lane. His two sons joining him on the couch on Sundays to watch cartoons while Lisa got breakfast ready. Her brown curls bouncing on her shoulders as she laughed. The way her chocolate brown eyes met his with so much calm love when they talked alone at night. Her full lips kissing his salty tears away as he awoke from a nightmare.

He gulped, and immediately swiped the phone to get rid of the lock screen. He clicked on Lisa’s contact and typed up a quick message.

[3:11 p.m] **Waylon** : Just texting to check up on you and the boys. Hope you’re doing okay, miss you.

He clicked his phone off, his eyes welling with fresh tears. He hated thinking about them now a days. Ever since exposing Murkoff for their inhumane treatments toward the inpatients, he had split from Lisa and the boys, put them under witness protection, and went off on his own. He couldn’t handle thinking of them being in danger by whoever held more power than Jeremy.

He sighed deeply, the murmur of the TV becoming blurred static to his head as he started to doze off into a fitful nap.

_The apartment was dark save for the stove clock glaring a neon blue hue in the kitchen. Waylon tiptoed down the hallway from his room, heading toward the light carefully. It was midnight, and the apartment was dead silent._

_The only sound that seemed to filter through Waylon’s ears was the very faint static popping of a record player. It was very quiet, and it took Waylon forever to finally catch the rhythm it was making. The second his mind registered the rhythm, he felt the air leave his body and as soon as he tried to blink the darkness away, he was somewhere else._

_The soft carpet of the hallway was replaced with cold concrete, and a draft drifted its way up his body, sending harsh chills down his spine. His hair stood on end. The static record music was clear now, its incessant noise coming from across the room._

_It sat on a table against the wall, almost screaming the lyrics at Waylon as he walked slowly toward it._

_He knew the music, knew every line like it was carved into his flesh with a knife. His whole body felt like it was floating, and his eyes went into a tunnel vision, solely narrowing in on that record player._

_When he finally reached the record player, he reached a hand out and softly touched the glossy wood of the side of it. It was cold, very cold, and almost hurt his fingertips when he brought his hand back. As much as the music screamed its lyrics in his head, he couldn’t bring himself to turn it off. It was almost like he couldn’t force himself to._

_Breath ghosted down his neck at that moment; hot breath that held a violent energy behind it._

“You came back to me, darling.”

_Waylon whipped his entire body around and was met with a broad chest. Arms suddenly wrapped around his body and before he could cry out, he was being hoisted over the man’s (Eddie’s) shoulder. He squirmed, but his entire body felt heavy, and he couldn’t get himself to yell out._

_A hand came around and patted his rear, and he felt his entire body freeze up in absolute stone-cold terror. A lump formed in his throat._

“I’m never letting you go again, darling. You know that, right?” _Eddie purred, and he gave Waylon’s rear a reassuring pat._

_***_

 

Waylon opened his eyes an hour after falling asleep. He didn’t move from his spot right away. He didn’t jolt awake, scream awake, or thrash. He just…laid there, as motionless as possible. He didn’t nudge from where he fell asleep, his leg still resting against the back of the couch like it was when he initially flopped down there.

He brought his hands up to his peripheral vision, and studied them silently.

He quietly rubbed at the place his wedding ring would’ve been, feeling the soft flesh there for an entirely too long of a time. He missed his (ex) wife. He missed her, and he would give anything to just have her back at this moment. He wanted her to at least come to his scheduled meeting with him, for support. Anyone besides Miles, as Miles had insisted he go with him for “emotional” support (whatever that meant).

He signed, and with enough motivation, he got himself up into a sitting position. His eyes met his phone, and the flashing green icon at the corner of it.

Picking it up, he expected to have gotten messages from Blake or Miles, but to his surprise, he was met with 2 messages from Lisa.

[3:25 pm] **Lisa** : We miss you too, Way. The boys want to call later tonight after dinner to tell you about school.

[3:33 pm] **Lisa** : Things have been…good here, baby. But I feel like it would be better with you here. I know we split for me and the boys’ safety…but not seeing your dorky face every once in a while is totally unfair.

Waylon felt tears well up in his vision, and a wide smile broke out over his features.

**[Waylon is typing…]**

[4:12 pm] **Waylon** : Give the boys kisses for me. I’ll call them in an hour. I miss you too, angel. <3

 

***

 

“I should be in there with you.” Miles griped, arms crossed as he gazed out of the passenger window. He bit on his lip worriedly, and the journalist’s own anxiety was contagious.

Waylon kept his eyes on the road, the steering wheel being gripped by white knuckles. The winding back roads of Colorado were long and narrow, and they had been on the road for 30 minutes. They had another 15 minutes left in the trip, and sitting in the car with Miles was grating on Waylon’s sanity.

“You’d cause a commotion and the last thing I need is you getting us banned from the facility. This place is new but houses a lot of dangerous and heavily mentally ill people, Miles. Some of these people cannot cope with your kind of personality.” Waylon replied, and the comment earned him a passive aggressive grunt and a snort.

“This is a bad idea.” He grumbled.

“I don’t care if you think it’s a bad idea.” Waylon said, jaw set tight as he kept driving down the back roads.

Pine trees surrounded them on either sides, blocking any sunlight or wind that could’ve been winding through the forest. Mountains loomed up ahead, their tall peaks reminding Waylon of the trips he would make to Mount Massive from his hotel room.

Miles went quiet for a second, thinking of what to say, before looking over at Waylon a moment. “If he does anything to try and hurt you I’ll give him the same treatment he tried to give you.”

“Duly noted.” Waylon replied, and leaned back in his seat. The radio started to go in and out of static, before cutting out altogether. Miles griped about the service on his phone, and switched the radio over to CD. Rock started to blare over the speakers.

Waylon’s stomach flip flopped and his heart was beating a million miles a second.

He didn’t allow himself much time to mull over just what exactly he was doing, but it was too late now. It was set in stone. The first meeting was today and he wasn’t running away from this like he did so many other things.

 _Don’t let this fear control you, Waylon._ Came Lisa’s comforting voice from the back of his head. _I believe in you. Your sons believe in you._

Eventually they made it to the parking lot of the facility, which was nestled deep in the woods, a couple miles away from the mountains.

The parking lot was nestled near a small garden full of vegetables, fruits, and flowers. In the garden sat a couple of inpatients with nurses, picking crops and smelling flowers. They seemed so peaceful.

The building itself was colored in a sky-blue paint with whites and yellows, and behind the building was a large gated park. Inside the gates were benches, fountains, a flowerbed near the back doors of the facility, and trees to dot out the sun during certain times of the day. Birds chirped happily up in the trees, and as Waylon got out of the red jeep, he felt…calm.

“This place is nice. Too nice.” Miles commented as he got out after Waylon. He looked around the parking lot, taking notes of different things. “Probably do some fucked up shit around here.”

Waylon ignored him, and quietly made his way down the gravel path up to the guest doors.

The facility smelled like lemon zest and medicine. A strange mix, but not entirely unpleasant. Miles made himself comfortable in the waiting room, sitting down opening up a magazine as Waylon walked up to the counter and signed in, letting the receptionist know he was here for an appointment.

“Alright. Now you stay out here. If anything goes wrong I’ll have a nurse come and get you. Is that clear?” Waylon said, standing in front of Miles as he skimmed a magazine.

“Yea yea, I get it Way. I promise I won’t sneak in or cause a scene, alright? Just…I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Waylon nodded once, and left once he was called by one of the staff members.

The hallways stretched on for what seemed like miles, and he was led around a maze of them before he entered what appeared to be a psychotherapist’s room. In the room there were two couches facing one another, both a deep brown color and very plush. He sat down at one of them, and curled his feet up underneath him to be more comfortable.

Behind the other couch was what appeared to be a desk, obviously belonging to either a doctor or a therapist. The name “ _Andrea Whittaker_ ” was perched at the end of it, with a black leather chair sitting just behind that. The bookshelves were filled with psychology books, books for incest survivors, books on how to cope with Post Traumatic and Borderline Personality. Books about abusive households and the signs of it.

His eyes skimmed past each of the spines of the books. He was caught off guard when the door opened and a plump woman in her late 30’s walked in. She was wearing a blouse and slacks with dress shoes. She was from Hispanic heritage, with tightly curled brown hair and calming brown eyes. She sat down across from Waylon and opened up a file on her lap.

“It’s so good to meet you, Mr.Park. I know how nerve wracking this must be for you, but I just want to promise you that you are in safe hands here. And Edward has been doing really well this past year since the incidents.”

Waylon couldn’t help but wring his hands and rub them continuously. His heart was racing and he could feel sweat beading at the back of his neck. He nodded, forcing a smile.

“Now, Edward is expected shortly, but I just wanted to go over some things with you beforehand.” She flipped through some papers in the file before settling on a page.

“Edward says he doesn’t remember a lot from Mount Massive. Only things we could get through memory sessions were other inpatients. All faces, but no names. The only name he’s remembered is Dennis’s and that’s only because they share lunch together.” Waylon let out a small chuckle, mostly to calm himself down. “But after talking to your therapist about this it’s obvious Edward had a lot of impact on your own trauma.”

Waylon nodded, gulping loudly and looking down at the ground. Memories washed over him like a wave and he struggled to stay present with her. God…if it was bad now what was it going to be like with Eddie _in the room_ with him?

“I hope seeing you will help Edward’s repressed memories come forward. And I hope talking with him can help you face your own trauma head on. I want you to know that if anything bad happens here, or you want to stop these sessions for any reason, we can. No questions, no reasoning. Just say the word.” She said, leaning forward a little bit to catch his eyes.

His shoulder seemed to relax at that statement, and he smiled at her with relief in his eyes. The moment was short lived as a knock sounded from the closed door and a nurse’s head popped in.

“He’s here. Are you ready?” She asked. Andrea nodded, standing up.

Waylon’s heart wanted to burst from his chest and run off, and he felt his eyesight grow dizzy and blurred for a second. He couldn’t bring himself to stand, and he desperately looked to the other therapist. “ _I-is my therapist c-coming as well_?” He asked almost hysterically.

Andrea went to Waylon’s side, not putting her hands on him but making sure he could see her. “Yes, she’s just running a little late and told me to start without her.” He felt his mind was reeling and he had to get his bearings before he hyperventilated and passed out from panic.

The door to the therapist’s room opened, and a dark form blocked the hallway’s light. Waylon looked up at the tall form, and it felt like he forgot how to breathe. Emotions churned inside of his body like an inner hurricane, and before he knew it the hulking form was sitting across from him on the couch, meeting his eyes, looking almost as nervous as him.

Waylon blinked, clearing his vision from the panic threatening to devour him on the spot.

His vision cleared, and it was in that moment Waylon could look clearly at Eddie before him.

His scars had healed slightly, and his eyes had almost returned to normal. His eyes were the clearest color of blue Waylon had ever seen, and he hadn’t ever noticed in the past just how enchanting those blue orbs were. He was dressed in scrubs, a white undershirt poking out from the v-neck blue scrubs top. No maniacal smile was carved into his features; just a straight neutral line.

It was silent for what felt like hours before Andrea spoke up. “Edward. I’m glad you decided to this session. This is Waylon Park.” She motioned to Waylon, and moved to sit next to Eddie. The groom didn’t seem to the mind the close proximity of the woman. In fact, he seemed to ignore her presence altogether.

His eyes were studying Waylon intensely, and finally something sparked behind Eddie’s eyes. It took a moment for Waylon to understand what that spark was.

Realization, and deep remorse.


	4. Session 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon and Eddie finally speak at their first session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple of notes. I wanted to put out each main characters' mental illnesses + symptoms, as well as put out a strong trigger warning.
> 
> TW: The end part of the fic has a self harm relapse. Read with caution.
> 
> **
> 
> Now, I have a list of what everyone has down below if you all wanna know. I gave it a lot of thought, and thought i would put in my own mental illnesses into some of the characters to just relate to them a little more.
> 
> Eddie Gluskin: Schizoaffective Disorder (Depression type) // C-PTSD // and he experiences Psychosis regularly.  
> Waylon Park: OCD // PTSD // and Generalized Anxiety. He also have Body focused repetitive behavior, which includes skin picking and nail biting.  
> Miles: ADHD combined type // Derealization Depersonalization // Addictive Disorder // Depression  
> Blake: Specific Phobia // Social Anxiety // PTSD // general Psychosis

Waylon felt as though a weight was resting on his chest. He found it hard to catch his breath, and the thick silence stretched between them for what felt like an eternity.

Eddie was the first to speak.

“I remember you.” He said, softly, hands folded in his lap and eyes cast downwards the second he started to speak. Waylon felt as though Eddie’s voice could physically slap him, and he had to take a few deep breaths to try and steady himself and to keep from fainting on the spot.

Waylon felt his mind start to fog, and the overwhelming stench of blood and sweat filled his nostrils. He couldn’t will the vivid flashback away, and he leaned forward in his lap to try and help with the nausea that washed over him. He felt absolutely sick. He didn’t think he could do this.

Eddie opened his mouth to speak again, but he couldn’t will himself to. The knowledge of the man he remembered trying to harm, whom he had dreamt about for so long, whom he almost found _comfort_ in the safety of his thoughts with, couldn’t even stand the sight of him. He felt disgusting.

His features softened. All this time he was worried with how he was going to handle this meeting, but he never once thought how the other was going to feel.

“Waylon, you said your name was?” Eddie spoke up softly, and it seemed to catch Waylon’s attention. He peeked his head up, just enough to meet his eyes. He looked pale, with wide eyes quivering in their sockets.

“I’m happy you came to speak with me…but you and I both know what I did was unforgivable.” He fidgeted slightly, not knowing where to go with this statement, but he kept talking anyway. He felt the reassuring hand of his therapist rest on his shoulder.

“I do not know what I did, exactly…but seeing you made sense to me that whatever I did to you was unspeakable.”

Waylon seemed to keep still enough, letting Eddie talk as he tried to calm his nerves down and hold back from vomiting all over his shoes.

“Now I know that I want to keep working on this…to fix what I’ve done.” He finished.

Waylon slowly sat up straight with that knowledge, and placed his hands awkwardly in his lap before gathering the courage to speak. He leveled Eddie with a dark stare.

“I…” He bit his lip, rethinking what exactly he was going to say. “No…there is no fixing what you did. I would tell you exactly what you put me and so many others through…but I don’t think I have the time.” He brought a hand up to massage his forehead and brow line.

“But I know that this…whatever this was, was a good idea. Being able to face you and confront you and talk about this with you…I know this’ll help.” He let out a deep breath, and laid back against the cushions of the couch.

“Which brings me to another thought.” Waylon continued, and met Eddie’s eyes at that. “I killed you. I filmed you die in front of me. How the _fuck_ are you even here?”

Now that, Eddie could not answer. In fact, the knowledge that he had apparently died came as a shock to him, and he had to process what was said before being able to think of an answer.

“Pardon?” He asked, not quite understanding the question.

“You died. I killed you.” Waylon repeated, and crossed his arms across his chest, leveling Eddie with a quizzical look.

“I…I don’t understand, da-…uh…Waylon. I only remember waking up in the hospital after entering the Morphogenic Engine.” His eyes darted back and forth as he tried to process the fact that he was… apparently killed.

“They told me they found me barely alive outside of the hospital and took me in. I was apparently miles away from Mount Massive, and they told me it was a shock I was able to make it as far as I did.” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I’ve only recently been able to regain partial memories of my time at the institution.”

Waylon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to stay calm in this situation. By this time he would be out of here, seconds from a panic attack and shutting down. He was doing really well, but he felt on the borderline of not being that way.

He slapped his hands onto his legs and suddenly sat up, startling both the therapist and Eddie. “I need a second.” He said suddenly, running a hand through his hair. “Break? Break sounds good.”

He got out of the room before Eddie’s therapist could protest, and stepped out into the barren hallway to catch his breath. He couldn’t do this. There was too much happening, his mind was whirling and breaking apart at the edges from all of the information. He was dissociating from the amount of energy going on, and he had to pinch his hand to bring himself back to his body.

He needed a cigarette at that moment, which was bizarre to him. He quit smoking way before even having his second child, and suddenly the urge to light one up was almost overwhelming. He bit at his lip and scanned the hallway as he took some deep breaths.

As he gazed down the hallway, lost in thought, he recognized the tall figure of his therapist rounding the corner, being led by a nurse.

Waylon smiled in relief, and shook her hand as she approached him.

“Started without me?” She asked. She didn’t need an answer, because one look at Waylon’s face told her everything she needed to hear. She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and met his eyes. “You have this, Waylon. I want you to remember that he can’t hurt you anymore. You have just as much freedom and power as he does in there.”

Looking into her golden-hued hazel eyes seemed to reassure him, and a weary smile broke out over his features and he gave a nod. “Thank you, Abigail. I was hoping you’d come by soon. I had to take a break.” He nervously rubbed at his arm.

“Well, let’s get back in there, shall we?” She knocked on the door, and was let in by Eddie’s therapist.

They shook hands shortly, and Andrea motioned for them to sit across from both her and Eddie. Waylon made himself comfortable on the couch next to his therapist, and he was quiet as Abigail and Andrea talked briefly about what had happened.

As they talked, he felt Eddie’s eyes boring into his skull, and he had to look up to meet the brute’s gaze just to get the awkward feeling to subside. Waylon expected to see rage or annoyance carved onto Eddie’s scarred face, but what he got instead was absolute guilt and worry. It caught Waylon off guard.

He blinked, and before he could say something to him, the therapists finished up their talking and got back into what was happening currently.

The session was long and drawn out, with both Eddie and Waylon taking turns talking about each of their own personal experiences in Mount Massive. Eddie mentioned Waylon’s hand in putting him in the Engine, while Waylon talked briefly about Eddie’s maniacal and violent state after that.

Each of them had faults, some smaller than the other, and future sessions would help work past that.

Near the end of the first session, Andrea cut in when the conversation lulled.

“You both are doing really well right now, but I want both of you to take it easy after this session. This heavy of topics can sometimes force repressed memories to resurface, which can be difficult to process.” Eddie looked down as she talked.

Abigail nodded, and turned to Waylon. “It’s not mandatory, but would you like to meet up with me at my office after this session?”

Waylon shook his head, awkwardly rubbing at his sore neck. “No no…I need to get back to the apartment. This meeting sucked all of my energy out and I can barely keep my head up.” She nodded.

“Alright. Let’s set up an appointment for next time. Abigail, if you can come with me.” Andrea began, and stood with Waylon’s therapist as they made their way to the desk on the other side of the room to get another date in order.

That left Eddie and Waylon “alone” together for the time being, and the groom found himself looking up into Waylon’s worried eyes.

Waylon’s gut churned. This was…different than having a therapist to act as a buffer between both of them. It was just them, sitting across from each other, and Waylon felt vulnerable. Eddie’s mouth curved up into an innocent smile, and he leaned forward in his sitting position to keep Waylon’s eyes trained on him.

“Thank you for agreeing to this meeting, Waylon.” He said calmly, and the way he seemed to gently pronounce Waylon’s name had something foreign awaken in his chest. He didn’t dwell on it for too long, fear gripping and completely enveloping the feeling the second he recognized it.

“I…hope this helps you. I cannot tell you enough times how sorry I am. I know I can never expect an acceptance for my apology…or god forbid forgiveness…but you need to hear it.” He leaned back in his seat after his speech, having Waylon dwell on what he said.

This Eddie seemed so different than the Eddie back in the hallways of that institution, or even the Eddie he found smashing his bruised fists against the reinforced glass of the Morphogenic Engine lab. No…this was Eddie medicated. This was Eddie with actual therapy and healthy coping mechanisms and awareness of his reality.

This was probably the _real_ Eddie.

Realizing this, Waylon couldn’t hide the smile that broke out on his face, and he met Eddie’s eyes. They kept the gaze for a minute, just long enough to have that feeling spark back in his chest. This time, the gripping fear didn’t return to smother it, so he mulled on it just a little. Just enough to raise some questions.

These sessions could be for the better; that much Waylon knew.

 

***

 

The ride back to the apartment was comfortably silent. Miles hounded him with questions and threats toward Eddie the second they exited the facility. Waylon waved down every question and shot down every threat.

“Did he touch you? Did he hurt you? Did he threaten you?” Miles asked, and before Waylon could reassure his friend that, no, nothing like that happened, the journalist was already voicing ways he could sneak in and assault the brute in his sleep.

“God, Miles, calm the fuck down.” He had said as they climbed into the jeep.

“How are you so fucking calm, man? You just faced the guy that tried killing you, multiple times, back there. You told me you had to hold back laughing at his corpse before. Now you’re sympathetic with the guy?” Miles accused, and Waylon met his friend’s accusatory finger pointing with an eye roll.

“You weren’t in there with me—“

“And who’s fault is that?” He cut in.

“…you weren’t in there with me so you don’t know exactly how he acted and how the session went down. So, maybe you should follow in your boyfriend’s footsteps and mind your damn business like he does.” Waylon griped.

Miles paused right as he opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, then snapped it shut. He crossed his arms and slid down in the passenger seat until his legs were curled up and he was resting the soles of his feet on the dashboard. “Whatever.”

Waylon had a hard time falling asleep that night. He gazed up at the ceiling of his room, lost in thought.

Eddie had seemed so different then what he was like back at Mount Massive. Instead of having to be handcuffed and highly supervised like Waylon assumed, he was given total freedom of movement and only needed a therapist in the room with him.

He rolled over onto his side, gazing at the glaring neon white of his digital clock.

Had he been doing that well?

His mind reeled. He felt his body almost float up above his bed, through the ceiling, and before he knew it he was lost in memories. Dark memories. Memories that were clotted with blood that smothered your brain and drowned out everything else. Memories of bare feet slicing open on shattered glass, of strong gloved hands wrapping around his throat, and the stench of decay enveloping him as he met Eddie’s crazed eyes.

He couldn’t feel anything in that moment… and it felt as though his whole world had gone dark.

It wasn’t until he felt someone whip him around by the shoulder that he noticed he was standing in the kitchen. He was clad in boxer-briefs and a band t-shirt, the clothes he had fallen asleep in. He was barefoot, and the cold linoleum of the kitchen started to give him feeling again. It was slow, realizing what was going on.

Miles was talking to him, not angrily…but sternly. He pointed at his arm, and it finally dawned on Waylon.

He dropped the steak knife he had in his hand, ignoring the clatter it made when it hit the ground, and allowed Miles to lead him by the wrist to the bathroom. Blood trickled from his arm, trailing across the carpet into the bathroom and over into the sink.

“Shit, Way. God I knew that session was a bad idea.” Came Miles’s strained voice through the cloud that covered his ears. All Waylon could do was blink and silently watch Miles go to work on his arm.

He had done a big amount of damage to his arm, not going too deep, but deep enough to cause a mess.

It was cleaned and dressed appropriately, and then wrapped in something protective. Miles gingerly placed a hand over his work, and then gazed up at Waylon.

“Talk to me, dumbass.” He said, voice straining to sound put together. He was trying to stay calm. Waylon felt disgusting.

He broke down then, face pulling into a pinched expression as he started crying. He put his head in his free hand and his shoulders shook as violent sobs burst from his throat.

He choked out a stuttering apology, but Miles hushed him with a warm hug, wrapping his free arm around Waylon’s shoulders and resting his chin on his trembling shoulder.

“It’s okay, Way. Shhh…don’t apologize. It’s okay now.” He reassured. His voice was gentle as he rubbed a circle between his shoulder blades. It seemed to calm Waylon down enough, as his sobs resided into hiccups.

“It all just. Came crashing down on me.” Waylon finally mumbled against Mile’s shirt. He felt his friend nod, letting him know he heard and understood him.

“I hadn’t relapsed in so long…and this is what causes it? I’m such a fucking idiot.” He murmured, and he heard Miles’s hush grow sharp at the end.

“No. You aren’t weak.” He moved back so he could catch Waylon’s eyes with his own. “Shit happens, Way. Everyone relapses. It’s part of the process. You can get through this, just like you got through everything else. You’re a strong son of a bitch, you know that, Way?”

Waylon was quiet, and after a moment he looked up at Miles and forced out a meek smile.

“Thanks, Miles.”

“No problem, Waylon. Now, since we’re both awake…let’s watch some movies and have a snack. How’s that sound?” He smirked, causing Waylon to smile right back.

“Sure.”


	5. Visitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon makes a last second decision to visit Eddie without the session. Thoughts start to spark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long hiatus about making a chapter! Shit my motivation and creativity get sucked dry when it comes to writing.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for all of the support! This is going to be a serious chapter, obviously. None of Miles's light-hearted "I use jokes to cope" sense of humor in this one! 
> 
> TW for: homophobia, internalized homophobia, and the f slur as well as mentions of child sexual abuse.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Blake asked, sitting down at the apartment’s kitchen, a book opened in one hand while his other cradled a beer. The clock blared 10:23 pm.

Waylon let out a sigh, aggravation biting at the back of his throat as he threw on a coat. Fall was starting to come into season, and the warm air of Colorado was starting to turn cold and crisp. Soon enough, it would snow. This time of year was always Waylon’s favorite.

“Probably not.” He replied, zipping himself up.

Blake put his book down, and lifted his glasses up from his nose to rub at the bridge of it. “Have you told Miles?”

“I didn’t know I needed his permission.” Waylon griped, and he reached into his pocket to make sure his keys were still in there. Blake cocked an eyebrow and bit at the corner of his mouth. He set his beer down.

“Do you want me to come with you?” He asked, slipping the bookmark into the page he was on and closing the book. Waylon paused as he grabbed his phone from the table, and gave Blake a simple look.

“No. I want to go alone. I don’t need you guys to be there for me all of the time.” When Blake didn’t seem convinced, Waylon fixed him with a steady smile and raised eyebrows. “I’m serious. I’ll be okay. I’ll call if something goes wrong, okay?”

Blake stood up as Waylon headed for the door, and followed him out. He grabbed the crook of his arm as he started down the hallway, and it surprised him for a moment.

“Be careful around him, Waylon. For fuck’s sake…it’s been a week since your last session with Eddie and you may think you’re getting somewhere with him but…” He trailed off. “Just…be careful. Fuck.”

Waylon’s features softened and he patted Blake’s hand. “I know. It’s only been three sessions. I shouldn’t get my hopes up about Eddie being completely changed…but I think going there for a visit might help me get used to him somehow.”

With that, Blake seemed to calm down, and he let Waylon go.

 

***

 

Group therapy was slow this morning. Eddie was too busy studying the stitches in his socks to really pay attention to the small group he was seated with in the meeting rooms.

The smell of burnt decaf coffee wafted through the air, and the soft breathing and scuffling of feet were the only noise at the moment. They were supposed to be meditating, but Eddie could not keep his mind from wandering. Thinking…

His mind was experiencing a storm inside, and he couldn’t put together why this was happening. He thought seeing Waylon would awaken emotions in him he’d spent so much time getting control of: anger, rage, fear, hysteria. And yes, at first, all of those emotions threatened to boil over at that first session with the smaller man.

But…ever since their last three sessions these past almost two months, Eddie’s been feeling something different churning in his gut and screaming in his mind.

Waylon was attractive. This was the first time he even used the word to describe him. He was attractive, and that was that. His hair was a masterpiece of curly, sandy brown hair. The locks swept along his forehead and tickled his cheekbones, and part of Eddie was jealous over how his hair could kiss upon his skin so often.

He gulped.

Waylon had beautiful eyes. And after admiring them during their sessions, he noticed in the last one that he had freckles in them. He could admire those forest green eyes all day. They held so much knowledge and emotion.

He had light freckles that kissed along his cheeks and forehead so graciously, and his lips were a perfect pinkish shade.

He rubbed at his neck, a flush filling his face as he tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered in his chest.

            _We always knew you’d be a dirty faggot._

Eddie’s eyes slammed close, and he hunched forward into himself. His jaw set, and he felt his anxiety start to take control over his entire body. His hands shook very softly, and he sat up straight as quick as he could. He stood up, catching the attention of the head group therapist.

“I need to take a break to gather my thoughts, ma’am. Do you mind?” He said, his voice barely being kept together at the seams. She motioned for him to leave, and he turned and headed to the door into the hallway.

The door hissed closed behind him, and he slumped down against the wall with a loud _whump_ , letting his head fall back against the wall behind him as he tried to give himself a reality check.

“Breathe, Eddie.” He said softly to himself, putting his hands up to his face. He breathed into the palms, and listened to the pounding of his own heart. His body was cold, yet sweat beaded on his forehead. He felt light headed.

_We knew the shit we did t’ ya would turn you int’a this, faggot._

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he hit his head against the wall a couple of times to try and calm himself down. He felt extreme shame, and disgust in himself. His father’s deep voice rang in his ears, and he used every ounce of strength not to lose his feel on reality.

Flashbacks were a bitch.

“You’re not wrong.” He said softly to himself, drowning out the intrusive thoughts with his mantra. He muffled the phrase into his hands, curled up against the wall outside of the group therapy meeting room. “You’re not wrong. You’re not wrong. You. Are. Not. Wrong.”

He eventually got up, making sure he had calmed down enough to be able to face his fellow patients in there without feeling embarrassment or shame. He walked in, and made a beeline for his chair on the other side of the circle.

“Everything alright, Eddie?” His group therapist asked, and he nodded simply, wiping his palm against his forehead.

“Yes, of course. Sorry for that.” He responded, keeping his eyes set down on his socks.

“It’s alright. Everyone needs some room to breathe every once in a while.” She turned her head back to Billy, who was curled up on his seat with his arms hugging his legs. His very short, messy mop of brown hair was stuck to his forehead.

They continued their talk, and Eddie went back into his daydreaming. Though, this time it was different. Instead of thinking about Waylon’s features, he thought about Waylon’s behavior at their sessions.

The man was closed off, usually only talking when he was asked to talk. Eddie worried at his lip. It had been three sessions already and he hadn’t changed his demeanor much.

 _I do not blame him._ Eddie thought to himself. _My memory’s been coming back slowly these last few weeks…and what I did to him…the fact I am getting the chance to work with him is a miracle._

“Eddie?”

He popped his head up, eyebrows raised as he noticed he was being called on. And apparently he was being called on for a while, because when he glanced around he noticed some of the fellow patients holding back snickers and laughs. He met them with a glare, though couldn’t hide the flush to his features, as he finally met eyes with the therapist.

“We were just talking about coping mechanisms for everyone to get into while here.” She said, once the snickering had died down. Eddie’s glare toward one of the patients dissipated as he looked back over to the group therapist.

“We’ve actually started up some new projects while here we think you’ll like. I know you told us you liked sewing, but seeing as weapons aren’t allowed here…and how that counts as one…we decided to take up finger crocheting.”

Eddie’s featured went from a neutral, thin-lipped expression, to a rather surprised smile. He sat up straight in his chair and seemed more interested in the topic at hand. “Really?”

His group therapist chuckled a little bit, and motioned to Billy. “Billy over here mentioned it and it reminded me. You both would probably do well working together with finger crocheting during our break. If you want to.” She looked over at Billy, and then glanced at Eddie. They both nodded, with Billy glancing over at Eddie before ducking his head when they met eyes.

The group broke off for a short break, and all muddled around the coffee pot and chatted to each other.

Eddie wasn’t exactly welcome to some of the patients, especially when it came to group therapy and talking about their experiences. Dennis’s recalling of Mount Massive Asylum during group had people honestly afraid of Eddie. Dennis tried to reassure others he was mostly harmless now, but the damage had been dealt. He didn’t hold it against him.

He kept to himself near the front door, gazing out of the door’s window into the hallway. He was lost in thought for a while, but a tap on his shoulder had him whipping his head around to meet eyes with his group therapist. She jumped slightly, but immediately fixed herself and opened the door for Eddie.

“You’re being called to the front office.” She said. “It’s fine. They say you have a visitor.” She reassured, noticing his worried expression when she mentioned the office.

A visitor? Who would come visit him, at all? Unless…

Murkoff.

His gut churned, and he felt himself floating above his own body as he nodded and started his way down the hallway. Blood roared in his ears, his fists were clenched and he felt like his blood was boiling inside of his body as he made his way to the front.

 

***

 

Waylon was escorted to a visitation room off to the side of the waiting room. He was seated at a desk, with a wide window separating himself and the other half of the room. Once the nurse left, he tapped at the glass a moment. Must be for security reasons.

He nervously bit at his nails, looking around the white walled room, admiring the paintings on the walls and the potted plants to one side of the room. The other side of the room’s door opened, catching Waylon’s attention.

His anxiety skyrocketed, but dissipated as he got a hold on himself and met Eddie’s surprised features with a nod and smile.

He sat down on the other side of the glass, and looked behind him to the nurse in confusion. The nurse mumbled something about having 10 minutes, and left with the door open a crack.

Waylon leaned closer to the window, so he was in front of the open space he had to talk.

“Morning.” He said awkwardly, and he felt his cheeks warm up when Eddie met him with a very confused look. He eventually made a single nod.

“I’m…sorry to seem rude but. What are you doing here?” He asked, putting his hands on the desk. Waylon glanced down at them and noticed the faint scars that littered the joints.

“Uh…” Waylon awkwardly fidgeted in his seat and looked down as he thought for a moment. “I wanted to come see you outside of our session.” He confessed.

It caught Eddie off guard, and he leaned back in his chair. He looked back over at Waylon, grey blue eyes suddenly hard and unmoving. “You know you don’t have to force yourself to forgive me.” He reminded the smaller man, but Waylon just put a hand up and shook his head.

“I know that. But…I want to. For myself. And, Eddie, I want to know you. I want to get to know the guy who tried ripping my balls off.”

Eddie flinched, Waylon ignored it.

“We won’t be able to really know each other inside of a stuffy therapy room while our therapists breathe down our necks, right? So…I’m making it a habit to come see you. I’m making it a goal to come here and ask you at least one thing about yourself.” He leaned back in his seat and fixed Eddie with a look.

“I relapsed shortly after our first meeting. I would’ve brought it up at the next session but I…” He bit at his lip and furrowed his eyebrows. “I knew it wasn’t your fault for it. I did what I did on my own. So…” He took a breath, and cut off Eddie as he was about to apologize.

“Where did you grow up?”

The brute of a man across from him, through the glass, suddenly paused. He blinked a couple times, and then immediately glanced to the side. Memories of a farm flashed behind his eyes, before he looked back over at Waylon.

He fixed him with a forced smile. “Glad you asked, Waylon. It was almost like Leave it to Beaver-“

“Cut the shit.” Waylon snapped back, cutting him off. Eddie’s eyes widened in shock, and the smaller man could detect the hint of a sneer curling on his lips. It was clear the temper wasn’t gone…just tamed. He could feel the way Eddie struggled to keep his calm and to keep from screaming.

“I want to know you, Eddie.” He said, and leaned forward. “I’ll start, how about that?

“I grew up in California. I was the top of my class with mathematics and science. I sucked absolute shit at everything else. I wasn’t the most popular kid in high school, but I didn’t exactly have the stereotypical bully either. Both good and bad, really. I went to Berkeley, graduated cum laude. It’s how I pretty much got my job at Murkoff.” He started, and he fiddled with his zipper before continuing. “My mother was a single mother, and she pretty much kept the house in one piece a lot of the time. My dad was killed in an automobile accident not long after I was born, so I never got to know him. I have two other siblings, two sisters, and haven’t been able to talk to them in months.” He met Eddie’s eyes, and he noticed the bigger man was honestly interested in what he had to say. He had leaned forward in his seat and seemed intrigued to learn about Waylon. He couldn’t help but smile, and that… _feeling_ returned in his chest again.

It was silent a moment before Eddie sat up straight and cleared his throat.

“I…grew up in Illinois. We weren’t exactly a rich family, and we struggled on the farm a lot. We lived off of a back road down in the rural areas, surrounded by thick trees and hills. I…was an only child, and had a mother and father.” He took a moment to get his thoughts together as he felt that bubbling fear force its way up his throat. “I also had an uncle that lived with us, on my father’s side. We had cows, horses, pigs, chickens…I always loved going out to tend to the animals in the morning. It gave me something to do. Eventually my mother taught me to sew and that became my obsession.”

He drifted off.

“So you learned to sew through your mother?” Waylon asked after a moment.

Eddie nodded, rubbing the back of his neck as his felt it prickle and break out into a sweat. He hated talking about his family…those monstrous bastards.

“She was an artist with sewing. I only wish I had her talent.” He put a hand up to his chest for a moment and thought for a long second. “I was homeschooled, and didn’t get to experience a public or private school in my life.” Waylon’s eyebrows quirked up.

“When I turned 18 I left the farm, and immediately moved to a place with buildings. I could barely afford the apartment I was renting, but after getting a job at a tailor shop I started to get better in life. I…never talked to my family when I left.”

Waylon frowned, his eyes growing soft and emotional. Eddie could get lost in them. He could get lost in everything Waylon had.

Before they could continue, the nurse popped their head back into the room, telling Eddie time was up.

He slowly stood, with Waylon doing the same right after him. He met Waylon’s eyes for a long moment, keeping them locked. Eddie and Waylon’s hearts both seemed to flutter in their chests, and Eddie put a hand up to the glass. He tapped it with his fingers, and he smiled.

“Thank you for coming out of your way to see me, Waylon.”

“No problem, Eddie.” Waylon said calmly, snatching his phone off of the desk so he wouldn’t forget it.

The larger man smiled and nodded at him. “I’ll see you later this week. Have a lovely day.”

“You too.” Waylon called back to him as the larger man took his leave.

As he left, Waylon felt his chest begin to flutter and feel almost light, and when he climbed into the jeep he had to take a second to lean back in the seat and take some deep breaths. He saw it. He knew he saw it. He knew he wasn’t fucking crazy. Eddie…the way he talked to him and looked at him…something was _there_. There was feeling and meaning behind him.

He wiped at his forehead, started the jeep up, and hurried home.


	6. Yellow Lilies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon is able to talk with Eddie without the need of a window to separate them. They enjoy each other's company, and a friendship blooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR SUCH A BIG DELAY IN UPDATES. I get distracted easily. Also...my birthday is Saturday! I'm turnin 21 years old and I'm gonna plan a party with my boyfriend Waylon. Super stoked!!!! 
> 
> TW for nsfw at the end of the chapter.

Visitation after therapy hours continued like a schedule. Waylon was convinced this would help even more then the mandatory therapy sessions he set for himself, and the more he visited Eddie off hours the more he thought this was a good idea.

Eddie seemed to be warming up to him slowly, and despite how thick the walls around Eddie’s past and emotions were, Waylon could see them crumbling with each visit. They talked about anything and everything in that small enclosed space, cut in half by a plate of glass and a desk.

It was going into the third month of therapy with Eddie, and with that intense psychotherapy came the drawbacks. A couple sessions had to be cancelled in the past because Eddie could not cope with the memories that were pushing to the forefront of his mind. Waylon could understand too well.

Part of him had grown more and more worried each time there was a cancellation, to the point where Waylon finally decided to come to a visitation early. He hoped Eddie was available, because he couldn’t handle this anymore. Meetings with his therapist didn’t seem to cut it as well as when he shared his therapy session with the Groom.

He didn’t want to think about why that was, and why that working with and visiting Eddie seemed to calm him down. He wasn’t ready to face that aspect of himself at the moment.

He had parked his car in the parking lot of the facility, and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. He got himself there no problem, but now that he was here he had to force himself to get out of the car. His mind was swirling with doubt and worry. Would they reject his visitation because of how Eddie had cancelled their therapy in the first place?

He looked up over at the facility’s backyard where a couple of inpatients were quietly checking on a flower garden with the nurses. That’s when the man noticed a familiar crop of hair in the small group outside.

Eddie.

Seeing him gave him the motivation to get out of the car, and he quickly shut the door behind him and headed up to the entrance. His quick movements caught the attention of the inpatients in the garden, and Eddie found himself staring as a familiar anxious looking man made his way to the entrance. He raised his eyebrows in confusion, and started to make his way to the door leading inside. He peered into the window, and could see the top of the man’s sandy brown hair bobbing toward the front desk.

The receptionist looked up as Waylon made himself known at the desk, and gave him her full attention. “Yes, can I help you?”

“Do you guys allow visits outside of that…room?” Waylon motioned with his thumb toward the door that led to the bland stark white room separated by glass. The receptionist looked confused, and he glanced toward the door and back to Waylon. She opened her mouth to speak, paused, and then stood up. “Let me ask, sir.”

He watched her make her way around the corner and could hear the muffled voices of the receptionist and someone else, probably someone in charge.

A man in a white button up and black slacks turned the corner and met him at the desk. He had a purple and yellow tie around his collar and his greying brown hair was slicked. His head of hair was rather thin, so Waylon could see his scalp through the strands. He looked to be around 55 or so.

“Can I help you, sir?” He asked, and Waylon noted how the receptionist followed what looked to be the boss out to her desk, timidly playing with the buttons on her blouse.

“Uh, yea I wanted to know if I could visit with someone outside of the normal paned glass window.” He replied, and shoved his hands into his jean pockets.

The boss scratched at the back of his head and glanced down at the computer. “Uh, sure. Who are you wishing to see?”

“Eddie Gluskin.”

The boss paused and immediately looked back up at Waylon, stark confusion written across his wrinkled features. “Do you have an appointment?” He asked warily, and Waylon started to notice he went up to his tie to adjust its tightness.

“No I…never had to have one before. We have therapy sessions together. I usually ask to see him and we go off to the side room.”

“We can bring him in, if you wish, for that. But we only really allow visitation anywhere else unless you’re family or an outside doctor or therapist.”

Waylon cocked an eyebrow and patted at his wallet. He wasn’t family, but part of him felt like he was all Eddie had now. Something about that thought had him more motivated to talk to him.

“Can’t you just ask him if he wants to see me?” Waylon replied, and he could see the crease in the man’s forehead intensify. He rubbed at the back of his neck and finally nodded with a grunt before heading out around the corner again. Waylon heard the door to the garden open and close, and then he was left with the receptionist.

She smiled, awkwardly, and sat back down at her desk. She motioned for the seats in the waiting room. “He’ll be with you shortly.”

Waylon obliged to that, going over to the couch cushions and picking up a magazine.

Eddie cocked an eyebrow as he watched Dr. Briggs open up the door to the garden and wave him over. “Is something the matter?” He asked calmly as he looked down at the man who barely reached his shoulder.

Briggs awkwardly fixed his tie, a habit he did when he was put under pressure, and pulled him off to the side. “There’s someone here who wants to see you outside of the mandatory meeting room. Now…I usually don’t do this but if you want to see him out here we can allow this just once. We’ll need to keep an eye on you though.”

“Yes, Waylon. I saw him heading up to the building from out here.” Eddie replied, and looked back into the window to see the barely visible crop of brown hair sitting down at the couches. He felt himself smiling. “I’d love to see him.” He glanced back at Briggs, who looked mildly uncomfortable, before the older man nodded and headed back inside.

Eddie found himself a seat next to the door and occupied his thoughts by watching the bees fly around some of the sunflowers that towered above the fences off to the side. He had come so far since his time at the hospital an entire year ago, finding an almost serene way of living.

The therapy sessions with Waylon had proved to be astronomically healing. And the night terrors, though vivid at the start of the sessions, had become more and more muddled until they happened maybe once every two weeks. It was a huge improvement, and his doctor didn’t know what to make of the situation.

He was lost in his thoughts, and jolted a little when he felt someone sit down next to him. Waylon. He felt himself smiling a large genuine smile.

Waylon was looking out at the flower beds across the garden, and leaned forward so his elbows were resting on his legs.

“I was scared they weren’t gonna let me see you today.” Waylon confessed, gaze stuck on the blue and white flowers that dotted the skirts of the fence. A bird chirped.

“Any reason why you wanted a change of scenery today?” Eddie asked, turning his full attention toward Waylon as the smaller man kept his eyes set on the distance.

Waylon felt himself shrug, and he finally glanced up at Eddie’s face. God…the scars were almost fully healed. Though they’d never go away, the redness was reduced down to a light pink that almost cast his strong face and jawline in a blush. It looked…kind of appealing.

“I hated talking to you through a window. It was…impersonal. I’m totally down for this kind of casual, calming meetings out here. They should commercialize that.”

Eddie felt a chuckle rumble out of his chest, and he stood up slowly, motioning for them to both walk. The sky was just starting to overcast, with the grey storm clouds rushing in to cover up the sun. Most of the garden was cast in shadow. Fall was just starting to wrap itself up in the Colorado Mountains. Waylon stood up and walked with Eddie down the small gravel path that adorned the garden area.

“How have you been lately? It’s been a while since our last visitation.” Eddie started up, and glanced down over at Waylon as he talked. Waylon kept his head down and his eyes glued to his feet. He barely had a limp anymore, but on bad days it was more noticeable.

“I’ve been okay. Honestly I’ve been wondering what happened to you last time that made you cancel therapy for us.” Waylon quipped, and Eddie felt his chest burn with embarrassment. He rubbed at his head sheepishly. “Ah…I’m sorry, Waylon. I didn’t mean to upset you with that. I hope you still got to go to your own personal therapy?”

Waylon nodded, but then shrugged. “I dunno. Lately I’ve been kind of worried about you. When I was told it was canceled I immediately got this gut feeling. I didn’t mention it to my roommate though. He would’ve had a fit.”

The confession sparked gratitude and flattery deep in Eddie’s gut, and the flush that creeped across his face could be easily masked by the healing scar tissue. He coughed awkwardly. “Ah…my apologies. I had…rather large setback with my own personal therapy and needed another week to calm down and get better.” He felt Waylon’s eyes on him at that moment and a white hot shame crept up his back.

“I’m alright now, which is what matters. We all go through something like that once in a while.” He reassured, and Waylon dropped his gaze again. He found his mind wandering to that night, with Miles having to play nurse on his arm while he sobbed like a baby. He could understand that.

They circled around a bed of white and yellow lilies, and Eddie bent down and grabbed one of the flowers, snapping off the stem and turning to Waylon. He placed the flower delicately in his hand, and the younger man glanced up at him in surprise.

Eddie winked. “We aren’t really allowed to mess with the flowers that much, but I thought you’d like something for coming all the way down here to see me.” Waylon’s entire face grew hot and he glanced down with a smile on his lips. “Thanks.” He muttered, trying to hide the joy in his tone.

As they made their way along the back fence of the garden, Eddie looked up at the sky again and took in a deep breath. “I want you to know I started to remember more of Mount Massive.” Waylon paused in his stride, and felt the phantom-like searing pain in his abdomen from where he was stabbed flare up. He hid his wince.

When Waylon didn’t reply, he continued. “I don’t know whether to tell someone about what I did or stay quiet. If I tell them they might find me unfit for their services anymore and send me to prison. I know Dennis and his alters know about what I did, vividly, but somehow not of the gymnasium. Plus, they think he’s not all there with reality so they don’t take his talk too seriously. But I still…don’t know what to do.”

Waylon stopped walking at that, and took a deep breath as his heartrate started to quicken. Breathe, Waylon…you’re safe here.

“Then again part of me doesn’t believe that happened. That couldn’t have been me in there. I can’t imagine doing that kind of _shit_ and thinking it was okay.” He looked over at Waylon, shame and guilt in his eyes. “I tried to kill you.” He turned fully around to face Waylon, and the smaller man had to hold back from stepping back himself.

“The fact you even decided to talk to me out of therapy sessions is something I will never fully understand but…I have to thank you. For giving me a chance.” He met Waylon with a firm stare, eyebrows furrowed, and for a second Waylon got lost in them.

He placed a hand on top of Eddie’s shoulder, though he had to strain a little to do so at this height, and met him with an even more set stare. “Eddie. I can’t even put into words the shit I had gone through back there, or the shit I go through now. But some part of me thinks you understand without me telling you. Despite the absolute bullshit you put me through back at that hell on earth they called an asylum…I kind of want to be friends.”

The older man’s eyebrows shot up his head, and he straightened himself. Waylon’s hand slipped off of his shoulders and Eddie ignored the warm feeling it left on his skin, like a burn that seeped through clothing.

Eddie was shocked, to say the least, and a smile of gratitude broke out over his scarred face. “I really don’t deserve this kindness, Waylon.”

The technician found himself nodding, and let out an airy chuckle. “Yea. You don’t. But I’m doing it anyway. I must be crazy myself.”

 

*** 

 

_Strong arms made their way around his torso, almost lifting him up to be more accommodating to the taller man in front of him. He let out a soft noise, but was silenced when scarred lips softly met his in a kiss. His eyes were closed, almost screwed tight, as this happened._

_The arms around his middle moved so one hand gently slid along his rear end, which made him jump a little into the stranger’s body. “_ Watch your hands _.” He found himself saying against his lips. The stranger let out a soft grunt, knowing that they heard him, before pulling away._

_The kiss made him feel light and airy, like he was drifting on clouds._

_He opened his eyes._

_Eddie stared back._

_He felt his entire body stiffen up with slight terror, and he felt his heart start to hammer out of his chest. God no. Please not again. No no no no no…_

_But instead of a fist connecting with his jaw like he anticipated, he felt Eddie’s other hand gently brush some locks of hair out of his face. The hand on his rear moved up to the small of his back, and it held him there gently. He grew confused, and even more so when Eddie fixed him with a smile so genuine and kind it didn’t even look like the Groom he had met in that basement._

_“_ I’ve been wanting to do this for such a long time _.” He heard Eddie confess softly against his head. The older man pressed a kiss to the side of his head, and then moved so he was slowly pushing Waylon’s shirt up his body._

_Skilled, calloused hands trailed up the sides of his body up until he rubbed along his chest. He expected Eddie to cup one of his pecs as a way to imitate cupping a breast, but it never happened. Instead he brushed his fingers along his pecs, pecs that were flushed pink with shyness and arousal that trailed up his neck and across his face._

_He felt a finger brush along one of his nipples, and he felt a tingling sort of pleasure spread across the area, as well as below his belt. He let out a soft noise, which spurred Eddie along. He leaned forward while his fingers played with his nipples, and kissed a soft stripe from his collarbone to his neck._

_He closed his eyes, and felt his legs move apart as Eddie’s free hand moved down to his jeans. He felt his button become unclasped, and heard the all too familiar whisper of a zipper being pulled. Cold air met his thighs, and when he glanced down through half lidded eyes he found his underwear to be perfectly white lacy underwear._

_He let out an airy laugh, before a hand cupped his arousal through the underwear. He let out a moan. “_ Oh, shit, Eddie. _”_

 ~~~

Waylon jolted awake in his bed, breath coming out short and rough. He looked around the dark room, half expecting Eddie to be standing in the shadows, out of the light of the moon through his window.

He looked over at his nightstand, at the neon red number that blared 2: 05 AM in huge font, and then glanced next to it. Eddie’s yellow lily was laying on its side next to the alarm clock, and his mind immediately went to their visitation…then immediately to his dream.

He grabbed at his chest, felt the ghost of a hand there, and felt his entire body flush a deep red.

He was hard, achingly so, and he felt his whole body go hot with embarrassment.

“Fuck.”


	7. Followed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon somewhere deep inside knew that Murkoff wouldn't stay silent forever. The beginning of a storm is starting to brew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having issues writing this coherently at the moment but please stay with me on this. This chapter meant a lot to me and i hope it means a lot to other survivors trying to cope with the shit they were dealt. Blake's monologue was something I thought of personally. I am not there at forgiving my abuser myself, but I am trying to work past thinking about what she did to me and to try and move forward with my life. 
> 
> {side note before people ask: Val is a canon trans woman, which sits bad with me seeing as doing this puts trans women in danger. Because it tells others that trans women are rapists + child predators, which isn't true, but it's what Val is}

Two weeks later, Waylon was jolted out of his laptop by Miles slapping the mail down onto the table he was seated at. “I was being followed on my way home from work today.” He griped, and Waylon closed his laptop the second he processed what his roommate said.

“What?” Waylon asked, shock and confusion laced in his voice.

Miles aggressively grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured himself some coffee. It was cold from the morning’s brew but he didn’t care. He was shaking with adrenaline. “I had to outrun the car, but I was being followed. Some douche in a black van trailed me down the street after work and I had to hide down an alleyway to lose them.”

Waylon stood up, clad in his boxer-briefs.

“Do you know who it is?” Waylon asked, anxiety skyrocketing with the more seconds that passed by. Miles took a swig of his too-cold, black and creamless coffee, and grimaced angrily. He poured the beverage down the sink and put the mug in the dishwasher before looking down at the mail. “If it’s who we think it is, we have to move.”

Waylon’s throat tightened and his chest ached. His immediate thought was Eddie, and how moving could not only stop the therapy sessions, but put him in danger. If Murkoff was back to its old ways, that means they probably know about Eddie. And knowing about Eddie could destroy all of the work he had done since his time at the facility.

Waylon paused at the table, mind buzzing over what to do. He needed to do something, but he knew his type of anxiety and trauma-induced paranoia could also set him back and have him do things without thinking, so he followed advice by his therapist and started to walk. He paced around the living room cough, taking deep breaths as he counted to himself.

After reaching 30, he had calmed down significantly, and entered the kitchen nook again to think it over with Miles.

He put his hands on the table to brace himself, and looked down at the surface of it to focus. “What if they corner us and we can’t move? We can’t keep running forever, Miles.” He looked up at his friend and bit at his lip. “Did you tell Blake? Is he willing to move for us?”

“He agreed to come with me back to Colorado all the way from Arizona. The guy doesn’t stick to a single place for long. He’ll be fine.” He paused, and glanced over at Waylon for a second, eyebrows furrowing. “What’s on your mind, Way. Something isn’t sitting right here, and I want you to tell me.”

Waylon scratched at the back of his head, and his memory thought back to talking with Eddie at the facility’s garden…the yellow lilies…the dream. He gulped. He couldn’t lie to Miles mostly because the bastard would find out eventually.

“It’s Eddie.”

“ _Gluskin?!_ ” Miles said, shocked.

“No, numbnuts, Murphy! Yes, Eddie Gluskin.” Waylon snapped, and got Miles to snap his mouth shut. “If they’ve found us they’ve probably found Eddie. Which means he’s in danger and I’m scared he’ll go back to his old ways if they find him.”

Miles couldn’t help his eyes from rolling, which made Waylon’s blood boil. “Okay, no offense to you and your slow recovery toward forgiveness, but I could not give less of a flying shit about what they do to that bastard.” Miles growled out, and Waylon had to hold back from lunging at him. God he wished Blake was here as a mediator.

“He tried to castrate your balls, first of all,” Miles spat out, causing Waylon to flinch. “not to mention the party decorations he made with up to thirty inpatients in the gym. They could torture him for all I care. I doubt your wife would want them to spare the man responsible for your trauma.” He snapped. Waylon saw red.

He lunged toward Miles at that, not knowing where this rage was coming from. Was it the flashbacks of almost being a ceiling décor? Or was it something more, was it the mocking tone Miles dished out in response to his compassion? Maybe it was the mention of Lisa. Waylon couldn’t put it to one thing, but all he knew was that he saw red and blood was roaring in his ears.

In his fit of rage, Waylon shoved Miles against the edge of the counter and grabbed at his collar, intent on swinging him around to the other side of the kitchen and using him as a rag doll. But the momentum he needed to get on his foot was lost as Miles countered his weight and shoved him off of his body. Waylon’s head made contact with one of the chairs behind him before he crashed down to the linoleum.

He heard Miles huffing above him for a couple seconds, processing what had happened and trying to figure out what to do about Waylon. The smaller man was too dizzy to get up, and just burst into tears on the floor.

“Waylon?” Miles said, which barely got through the swirling murky cloud that covered his head. Waylon was depersonalizing from the situation, and couldn’t respond to Miles at the moment. So, making his own decision, Miles leaned down and helped him up, letting him lean on his shoulder as he led him to his bedroom and threw him onto it. He looked at Waylon for a long moment, before leaving him alone and shutting the door behind him.

 

***

 

Waylon came out of his room a couple hours later, just as the sun started to set outside. He propped himself up on his elbows, just then realizing he had dozed off, and looked around himself. He blinked, trying to get used to the darkness, before slowly getting up and heading to the bedroom door.

As he poked his head out, the muffled sound of talking reached his ears. He stepped out of the threshold of his room, closed the door behind him, and quietly shuffled down the hallway to where the voices were coming from.

He found Blake and Miles talking in hushed tones in the kitchen, with Miles pacing around the table with hands in his hair.

Blake watched him pace, cradling a bottle of water to his chest. He looked worried, scared, even. It wasn’t common when the most level headed of the three men grew scared.

“-and the worst part is that Waylon is more worried about some fucker who tried to castrate him feeling safe then he is about his own fuckin’ safety. Or my safety!” Miles did a 180 move on his socked feet and angrily ran a hand through his hair, eyebrows furrowed.

Blake took a swig of his water and grew silent as he thought, chewing on his lip.

“Maybe therapy is working well for Waylon. He’s starting to show worry over someone who he laughed at the idea of being dead not a year ago.” Blake calmly stated, but that just made Miles more upset.

“It’s Stockholm syndrome, Blake! You don’t understand! Would you be able to forgive someone who tried killing and torturing you?!”

Blake looked taken aback, and for a split second Waylon thought he was going to snap and start yelling, but his rather angry expression slowly melted into annoyance before he put his water bottle down and crossed his arms over his chest. “Enough, Miles.”

Miles stopped his pacing and gave Blake an agitated look.

“To be honest? When I first came back from the shit in Arizona I wanted Val dead. She sexually assaulted me in front of my ex-wife and I wanted nothing more than to have her suffer the same way I did.” He closed his eyes to keep his thoughts in line, and to help him steady his breathing. Waylon noted how he trembled slightly with anger. After a second he looked back at Miles. “But after psychotherapy at the hospital for four months straight, I made up my mind.

“I knew that staying violently angry at Val for what she did would not help me. And at first I was enraged that my therapist would even say that to me. I wanted to be angry, I wanted to scream and to lash out and to make Val regret everything she did to me…but after a lot of work my anger was funneled out. My trauma and my flashbacks started to become manageable. I couldn’t forgive Val, I’m still not there yet and maybe I never will be at that point…but I’ve learned to understand that putting all of my energy and thoughts toward her not only made it harder for me to move on, but made her stronger.”

Miles was silent after that, and Waylon could tell the energy in the room drastically changed. A soft, breathless sob left Blake’s chest and Waylon watched as Miles brought him into a close embrace.

After seeing that, he pulled his head back from poking out of the hallway and slumped against the dark corridor, gazing blankly at the wall opposite of him. He could hear a choked out whimper come from around the corner, and then the muffled voice of Blake as he pressed his face against his boyfriend’s shirt.

“I don’t know what Waylon thinks…or feels. But this is helping him. And maybe he might forgive Eddie, who knows. But you need to allow him this, no matter what you think of the situation, okay?”

He heard Miles muffle a _yes_ , and with that Waylon picked himself up off of the ground and headed back to his room.

 

***

 

Eddie saw the car down the road, before the patients were even able to see themselves, and he hid. He ducked below a window, blood roaring in his ears and heart pounding out of his chest. He felt fear grip every muscle in his body, and he screwed his eyes shut.

He saw the mark on the side of the car, he knew that symbol anywhere. It was seared into his brain while doctors prodded his head and treated him like an animal.

He felt himself poke his head up from the window, and to his horror the car had parked in the facility’s parking lot. He shot up like a rocket at that moment, and looked around wildly. He had to leave, somehow, and get away from the window.

He started off toward the back of the cafeteria, where a door led to the sleeping quarters. As he about made it, he heard the ever loud banging of the front door close. He froze in his place and slowly turned around.

Through the window, he found a woman and two other suit-clad men walk into the lobby and head toward the reception’s desk. He felt panic and bile rise in his throat and he had to hold back from screaming. They were back, they were going to lock him up again and no one would notice.

He pressed his back against the wall and watched in horror as the group talked to the receptionist and motioned toward the door leading into the cafeteria.

As they talked, Eddie suddenly got the bravery to finally move his feet, and before a nurse could ask him what the issue was, he had slipped through the door and headed back to his room.

It wasn’t until 30 minutes later did someone knock on his bedroom door and open it. It was one of the nurses. Eddie had sat himself in the corner of his room, on the other side of his bed away from the door, and looked about ready to attack when the nurse came in.

“Edward?” The nurse asked curiously, and Eddie looked around the leg of the bed to gaze over at the nurse, adrenaline coursing through his veins. “Some…people wanted to come speak to you?”

“Tell them no. I’m not fit to see anyone today.” He growled out. The nurse took a step back.

“They said they know Waylon.”

“I said _no_.” Eddie snapped, and the nurse nodded stiffly and closed the door behind him as he left.

God…this wasn’t happening. They weren’t really there, this was just a huge joke. Just something his mind was conjuring up and he would wake up tomorrow with the knowledge that this never happened. He rested his head against the wall and tried to breathe calmly.

Waylon. Oh my god Waylon. Eddie snapped his eyes open at that realization and stood up. If they knew Waylon, then that meant they had either tried to contact him, or had him in their sights. He felt panic rise up in his throat.

He needed to get into contact with him. And soon.


End file.
